A Bright New World: A Journey of Self-Discovery
by epicpickleninja
Summary: Super 8 from a lamp's perspective. Exactly what it sounds like. Warning: Character Death


The sun beat through the window blinds, illuminating the dust floating through the air. The brown-haired boy gnawed his lip as he put the final touches on his zombie. The lamp tilted its head subtly, attempting to get a better look at the boy's project.

Grubby hands jerked forward and fumbled with his notch. The lamp clicked on, casting a yellow glow on the zombie. The lamp tsked as the boy's tongue poked out as his brush gently went forward. Not the boy's best work. And yes, he was allowed to be critical. He's been sitting on the boy's desk for years now. Never moving except once when the boy's idiotic, loud friend knocked him over.

That wasn't counting the time the tall one carried him upstairs and unpacked him from his box all those years ago. The tall one was happier then. But the laughing woman had been around then. She vanished months ago. The tall one hadn't smiled as much since. Neither did the brown-haired boy.

The boy jumped as a loud bang erupted next to him. The idiotic friend erupted through the door. The lamp remained unimpressed, watching wearily as the idiot's waving hands swept close. They were noisy, squawking back and forth in their loud human speak. The lamp would never understand them.

The boy ran after the lamp-thrower and the lamp sighed in relief. He was safe. The lamp flickered with annoyance. Of course, the boy forgot to turn him off. No need to worry about wasting away his bulb. It's not like it's vital for his survival or anything. The lamp-thrower was a bad influence.

The lamp stood indignantly. Distantly, it could acknowledge the fact that the boy was generally good at not wasting the light bulb. However, the boy's past actions didn't make up for his burning bulb now.

The lamp was still grumbling as the sun went down and he started casting deep shadows throughout the boy's room. A creak in the staircase echoed through the house. The tall one entered the room quietly, his eyes flickering around the room quickly. The tall one's eyes were shining. It was concerning. The lamp couldn't fuss and get a better look because the tall one chose that moment to sigh and flick the lamp off.

Darkness was held at bay with the gleaming moonbeams. The lamp was content to relax on the boy's desk until the boy—in a much dirtier state than he remembered the boy leaving in—tiptoed through his door hours later.

The boy quietly clicked the door shut behind him, tossing a cube on his desk as he collapsed on his bed. The cube skidded towards the lamp. The lamp stared down at it. He didn't like it, he decided immediately. It felt...foreign. Wrong. The lamp vowed to keep a close eye on it.

Over the next couple days, the boy was rarely in his room and the cube further earned the lamp's suspicion. The cube kept vibrating. It was sending out some type of signal. The lamp hated it immensely, especially when it shook closer to him. The lamp wanted to shy away from the blasted cube. He didn't want that thing touching him. No telling what type of power that cube and its brethren held. The cube had the power to make the furry thing disappear. The furry thing might wag its tail, but it clawed at the desk too much for the lamp to mourn its sudden absence.

The cube's arrival also coincided with the power surges. And the lamp hated power surges. They made him feel overwhelmed and hollow. He was constantly filled with energy only to be drained of it the next instance. The lamp felt lifeless without that power. Lifeless and useless.

The lamp wanted the cube to go away. As far away from the lamp as possible. That _thing's _vibrations and signals were only growing more violent. The boy and his blonde friend finally noticed it. The lamp scoffed. Maybe they'll finally earn their keep and get rid of it.

The blasted cube had other plans.

The cube shook the desk before shooting off, busting through the wall. The lamp froze. That response was...unexpected. The boy and girl were shrieking at each other. The lamp's light flickered in and out without his permission.

The lamp continued anxiously waiting as the power surges drained him of life. The lamp glared at his chord. His chord gave him the false assurance of power. But the lamp knew the chord couldn't do anything except cling to the wall socket. The lamp, in its distress, didn't even notice the boy's prolonged absence until a violent blast shook the house.

The lamp shrieked as he unwillingly shimmied towards the edge of the desk. His bulb flared with sudden light. He desperately tried to lean backwards, but the bursts of flaming light and rumbles continued to shake the house.

He toppled over, the long fall halted by the wooden floor. The lamp quivered on the floor, the house constantly shaking around him. At least he had his chord.

A flood of relief rushed through the lamp. His chord. His lovely chord that was diligently connected to the wall. He takes back all his complaints about the power surges. His chord wouldn't be so cruel. His chord would keep him safe. His chord would stop him from roll around the tossing room. His chord—

His chord was a bitch.

The lamp stared in disbelief as the chord broke free from the wall.

Motherf—

The lamp jerked around the room, the explosions echoing through the room. He finally rolled to a stop by the boy's door.

Hopefully the tall one would rescue him soon.

The worst was over. The house gave a final lurch and decided to finally remain stationary.

A tremble shook through him as he heard the unmistaken sound of screaming humans. They were getting louder.

The lamp gaped as he heard the staircase creak.

The screaming humans were coming in here.

Dead light bulbs he was screwed.

The boy leaped over the lamp and he felt faint as he saw four pairs of running feet. He was going to shatter. He was going to shatter. This is how it ends. Him, helpless on the floor, broken to pieces after a fat foot smashed through him. He didn't want it to end. Not like this. Not so soon. He had so much left he wanted to accomplish. Glare into the lamp-thrower's eyes until he was blind. Change angles so he can stare out the window. Burn down the house the next time the boy left him on. Leave behind—oh all the boy's friends already went over him.

The lamp glanced down. He was miraculously unscathed. Lovely.

His celebration was cut short by a loud explosion. The lamp didn't have time to react as the wall suddenly imploded.

Rocks and lumber ricocheted around the room. The lamp flinched as rocks flew past him. Pebbles bounced off him. The room filled with dust. A pain-filled scream echoed through room. The lamp forced himself to look after the initial chaos.

A giant rock lay directly behind him and a thick piece of wood leaned across it, shielding the lamp from above. The lamp glanced around. He was safe. The debris formed a makeshift cover. And, besides a few dents and scratches, the lamp was alive. Alive and mostly intact. Well, he frowned at his chord, which was caught under the giant rock, assuming that it still worked.

The lamp was more than content to lay on the floor, surrounded by rubble. He had too much excitement in one day. He was ready to not move for a while.

Fate had other plans.

And by fate he meant the cube.

That awful cube and its brethren.

A weightless feeling creeped through the lamp. He screamed as he knocked against the piece of wood above him. _Above_ him. Why was he, a lamp, knocking against it? He was a _lamp_. He couldn't _fly_. Or move on his own accord really.

He glanced at his chord. It was still wedged under the rock. But his chord already failed him once. The wood tumbled to the side. The lamp shrieked as he continued floating up, jerking midair as the chord tugged back, halting his progress.

The lamp froze. He refused to relax. His chord already failed him once. But maybe...maybe he was too harsh. His chord, even if it was incompetent, was currently under a giant _rock_. It would take a lot for—

The rock chose that time to levitate a few inches.

The lamp huffed. He wasn't even surprised.

A breeze swept around his shade, his chord trailing behind him. He blinked as he flew out the window. He was outside. He left the room.

A weird tingling jabbed through him. His bulb flashed with sudden life. The lamp gaped as he continued weaving through the air. No, _soaring_ through the air. Like an eagle. A glowing eagle. Damn he looked majestic. His light bulb flared in agreement.

The lamp tilted forward, suddenly rising. He wondered briefly if he should care more about the mysterious force leading him through the starry night. The lamp glared forward. He was heading towards the water tower. A clumping pile of metal clung to the top of the water tower, smatterings of light gleaming where his brethren clung to it.

He sniffed as a traffic light flew past him. No one liked a showoff.

The lamp stared down at the town below him. Burning buildings and destroyed roads greeted him. Small things—where they humans? They were so tiny—teemed the streets. The dull roar of chaotic screaming (those small things were most definitely human) and screeching metal combated in the sky. A burst of flames erupted in the middle of the broken street. The lamp could feel the heat even up here.

Was this what the outside always looked like?

No wonder the boy was rarely in his room. This was wonderful.

The lamp was welcomed into the metal pile. He brightened, smugly gleaming stronger than the cars next to him. Metal vibrated around him. The lamp sung along to their buzzing. He wasn't used to this comradery. Everything was alive, buzzing with energy, excited with their new views. They could move, they could fly, they were free.

The lamp hummed. Not even the flying cubes could curb his enthusiasm. He was free. Free with his people. He liked his new home on the water tower. He loved his new view. And the energy flowing through him felt endless.

The lamp was more than content.

He was happy.

For the first time, he felt joy.

The metal pile sung louder. The lamp glowed brighter.

He squinted as a flash of silver caught his eye. The necklace floated past him and the lamp frowned through his elation. That looked like the laughing woman.

The lamp forgot about the laughing woman as the metal pile began to vibrate louder. The lamps were glowing, the cars were whistling, the metal was screeching. It was glorious.

Nothing could break his high. Nothing. He was powerful, energy coursed through him. He leered over the humans. They were finally put in their place. The inferior—whirring filled the air, rising to a screech. The lamp couldn't do more than scream as the water tower collapsed. The lamp was still screaming as heat ripped through him. His light flared, his bulb exploded. The lamp let out an anguished cry as he disintegrated until he was nothing more than dust floating through the sky.


End file.
